


hell (in high water)

by presumenothing (justjoy)



Series: fma fics [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: (aka the one where it's roy and riza instead of izumi and sig), (somewhat), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Pre-Canon, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26124976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justjoy/pseuds/presumenothing
Summary: They weren’t even meant to stop in Resembool.Wouldn’t have, if not for the torrential rain that had forced everyone to disembark instead of continuing on to the next stop, and Roy makes sure to include the appropriate dismay in his voice when he reports this to East Command over the train station’s phone.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye & Roy Mustang
Series: fma fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882300
Comments: 16
Kudos: 144





	hell (in high water)

**Author's Note:**

> me: haha what if it wasn’t izumi and sig in resembool when the river overflowed but mustang and hawkeye
> 
> me, one full day and 1.8k words later:

**i.**

When Roy rewinds and dissects the entire sequence of events in his head later, he will keep coming back to the same thought: for someone who’d been doing so much alchemy over the past year, he should’ve been capable of more.

Then again, considering what he _had_ been doing with it, perhaps that’s not so surprising after all.

Alchemy doesn’t kill, no more than a gun does. Take a bullet in the wrong place and you’re dead anyway.

* * *

**ii.**

They weren’t even meant to stop in Resembool.

Wouldn’t have, if not for the torrential rain that had forced everyone to disembark instead of continuing on to the next stop, and Roy makes sure to include the appropriate dismay in his voice when he reports this to East Command over the train station’s phone.

He doesn’t harbour any delusions about why the brass had ordered them on this tour of the eastern towns, and he’s fairly certain Hawkeye knows the same – nothing spells deterrence quite like the ostentatious appearance of the Hero of Ishval and the Hawk’s Eye.

At least Command had stopped short of making it an actual parade, but either way Resembool would’ve never made it on the list. The military might not have tallied anything beyond the impact to wool production, but a simple consideration of the casualties to both people and property makes it abundantly clear that there’s no need to worry about pro-Ishval sentiment here.

Not that there’s much love for the military either, compared to some of the other places they’ve been through; Roy provisionally chalks it up to blame for failing to protect the town against Ishvalan attack.

Whatever the reason, their uniform blue gets enough of a side-eye en route to the town’s only inn that Roy ends up changing into one of the few sets of civilian clothes he’d brought with him.

In theory he could argue that wearing wool in this weather is just _asking_ to get sick, what with how it gets all bogged down wet and cold, but that reasoning doesn’t really hold water (ha) given how he heads right back out again with no umbrella and a definitely non-waterproof overcoat.

Hawkeye seems to think the same when she opens her door before he can knock, though he doubts she would’ve heard it anyway over the thunder. “You’re going to be soaked right through, sir.”

“You don’t say,” Roy replies, with a smirk that Hughes would call _beatific._ “I’m counting on it.”

She doesn’t sigh, but it’s strongly implied in her expression, like it hasn’t been just as long since _she’s_ seen a storm that isn’t just sand.

* * *

**iii.**

And then the river surges.

* * *

**iv.**

Here’s the thing about alchemy that almost everyone misunderstands – yes, even some alchemists. Roy himself, too, before he’d actually sat down and thought about it.

Composition, phase, energy, force; all that is science. On most levels equivalent exchange is really just every single conservation law applied with extreme prejudice, and forgetting any of that is a quick route to rebound.

But drawing transmutation circles is an _art_.

It’s the logical corollary of defining only the start and end state and nothing in between. For anything beyond the most simple of transmutations, that intermediate process can have nearly infinite variations, which in practice means that no two alchemists will draw the same circle to get from A to B. Some ways are more efficient than others, others easier to direct, but all that is immaterial if you have sufficient power and control to force it through anyway.

No, what really _matters_ is this: using someone else’s circle is a pain in the ass.

 _Especially_ when they’ve skipped drawing the runes.

And these two children have definitely cut that part out entirely, when he nabs them by the hoods of their raincoats as they dash past him towards the swelling river, clutching some haphazard mess of tree twigs.

Roy wishes he could say that he’d done it on purpose, that he’d figured it all out in that split second, but the honest truth is that he’d caught them on instinct, and the last thing he expects is for the bundle to fall into a recognisable shape when their grip loosens in startlement.

Fall, _not_ scatter, because the twigs have been tied into rough shapes that Roy’s eyes widen at even as he barks, “What do you two think you’re _doing!_ ”

“Alchemy,” says the elder of the two as they both try to squirm free.

Roy bites back the instinctive _no shit, I can see your twig circle_ because they’re children and Hawkeye would definitely pummel him with one of the sandbags she’s hauling, and besides it’s unfair given the circumstances. The ignition gloves are tucked in his pocket out of paranoia-fuelled habit but they’re not going to be much help against a _river_ in the _rain_ , he doesn’t have a convenient pen and paper handy, and the storm is pounding hard enough to make drawing circles in the dirt completely moot.

In comparison using twigs is positively _inspired_ , even if the circle is more of a nonagon and the earth triangle is sized differently to how he’d have drawn it. Terraforming is a bit out of his usual shtick, but levees don’t exactly call for much finesse, and after everything with Master Hawkeye Roy _does_ happen to be more practiced than most at using circles drawn by other people. He’s already adjusting the calculations in his head as he lets go of both kids abruptly and grabs the twig circle while they’re still busy being startled. “I’ll do it. You two evacuate to higher ground.”

They both glare narrowly up at him, and Roy’s struck simultaneously by the unusual colour of their eyes and the realisation that they’re even _younger_ than he thought. Definitely no older than ten, and hell, Roy barely understood what alchemy actually was at that age, let alone constructing circles under less-than-ideal circumstances. And in _Resembool_ of all places. He doesn’t recall there being any practicing alchemists here, let alone ones who’d take in such young apprentices. Where are their parents?

Roy’s about to ask that when the younger one pipes up. “You’re an alchemist?”

…it’s probably a sign of something wrong with him that he nearly cracks up with hysterical laughter at the novelty of not being recognised on sight, even if it’s partly due to the lack of uniform. Admittedly it leaves him with the task of convincing two children that he’s competent, but he’s used to doing that at commanders thrice their combined age, and this one is far more easily resolved – he merely feeds enough energy into the circle to set off the crackle of transmutation discharge. “Indeed I am. Now will you go?”

Their reactions throw him off-track, enough to start questioning his assumptions about an alchemy teacher, because they’re looking wide-eyed at him like they’ve never seen anyone _else_ doing alchemy before.

Until the elder one remembers that they’re supposed to be angry at him, that is. “It’s still our circle. We’re not leaving!”

“Well _I’m_ not giving this back,” Roy says severely, in his best impression of the vaguely-threatening aura that Madame Christmas uses when cutting customers off drinks for the night. “Guess you’ll just have to make a new one then.”

The elder one makes a jerky movement that’s an attempted kick, Roy’s pretty sure, but the younger one physically drags him away with hurried whispers that suggest that they’re _actually_ going to do it and come back.

That’s fine.

Roy lets the expression slide back off his face as he turns towards the river; he’s not planning on letting there be _anything_ left to do by the time they return.

* * *

**v.**

“I strongly suggest not including them in your account of events, sir.”

Roy startles out of his thoughts at Hawkeye’s voice. “Pardon?”

She nods at the now-quiescent twig circle sitting atop his files as she hands him one of the train tickets. “Edward and Alphonse Elric. I asked after them with the station attendant.”

Roy considers that, and the town around them; not large by any means, and certainly less bustling than it’d probably once been, but not so small that you could take knowing all your neighbours for granted. “Well-known, are they?”

“Not for the best of reasons, I gather.” Hawkeye somehow gives the implication of ironic amusement without smiling. “They’ve also garnered some reputation for fixing small items. No parents in the picture.”

The words themselves sound like a non-sequitur; somehow she gives them weight anyway.

“No alchemy teacher either,” Roy agrees. The townspeople’s reactions last night had cemented that into certainty, and he hadn’t even been performing State Alchemist-level feats or anything nearly half as remarkable – the utter surprise only made sense if there weren’t any alchemists in town besides two school-aged children.

Learning alchemy from books. _Teaching themselves_ alchemy from books. Roy would’ve considered it impossible before today. Apparently it isn’t, but that doesn’t change the fact that they’d probably do even better with actual instruction.

“I stand by my opinion, regardless,” Hawkeye says, implacably, clearly reading his thoughts as distinctly as he hears hers: the military doesn’t need to know about two talented alchemists in some backwater town, ripe for the picking.

Might be old enough to annihilate a city in the next war, even.

Roy resists the urge to physically scrub the entire line of thought from his brain, even if his smirk comes out half-grimace. “I know. I’ll claim all the credit for it, you know I’m good at that.”

She gives him a flatly unamused look at that (partly deserved, Roy admits) and turns to check the time on the station clock. “The shops should be open by now, I’ll see what they have for takeaway. Shall I include your share as well?”

 _“Yes please,”_ Roy answers fervently; train food is still miles better than military rations, but he’d gotten heartily sick of it either way.

The arch of her eyebrow suggests that she’s not going to waive her errand fee today either, and he’s almost given in to temptation to snark about that when she abruptly stops instead.

Roy glances at her in puzzlement, but she doesn’t look back.

“It was,” Hawkeye – _Riza_ says, in words that would’ve been halting if not for her measured tones, “heartening to see alchemy being used for good, Major Mustang.”

The gloves sit heavy in his pocket. If he ignores their weight for long enough he can still feel the earth rising beneath his palms amid the torrent raging around them. “It was.”

Hawkeye nods, fully brisk again, as if that moment never happened. “I’ll return shortly. Do pack this mess up in the meantime, sir,” she adds, leaving him to splutter at her retreating back.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are irrigation for my theoretical crops <3
> 
> what’s flame alchemy gonna do to a flood, you ask. what’s guns gonna do to a flood? i raise you that the answer is nothing at all, and sometimes that’s _exactly the point_
> 
> (in other news, [i'm funny please laugh](https://presumenothing.tumblr.com/post/627516412197552128))
> 
>  **EDIT:** [NOW WITH ART!!](https://presumenothing.tumblr.com/post/627697018357301248/artistfingers-he-nabs-them-by-the-hoods-of)


End file.
